the sun began to rise when you came my way
by safeandsound13
Summary: Look, her tongue might be in his mouth and he might be brain dead at the moment and technically disabled for the foreseeable future because he can't feel his limbs and her tongue might be in his mouth, but he...doesn't really remember where he was going with this. / Or, the pack makes a bet. Future fic. Stiles/Lydia, mentions of Scott/Allison, Isaac/Malia. M for mentions.


_._

_holy moly, i'm living the dream_

_you and i make a damn good team_

_and i'm falling, we're falling, we're falling_

_._

To be fair, he didn't start it. Okay, he liked it and he wanted it and he wasn't going to go pretend like he hadn't dreamt about it for like, the past ten years and like he wouldn't do it again every day for like, the next ten years—but, the point here is, he _didn't_ start it.

He was just chilling, like literally just chilling on his bed, reading up on the latest Marvel movies spoilers and eating twizzlers like no tomorrow when she knocks on his door, all casual and friendly and innocent—there were no signs of what was about to happen, whatsoever, he wants this to be very clear.

"Hi," she had breathed, a small, tense smile on her lips as she suddenly seemed to remember she was still wearing her hat, pulling it off, her nose a little red from the cold outside. Only Lydia would wear a flimsy dress under her coat when it's snowing.

"Hey," he leaned against his door, supporting it with his own hand as he looked her up and down (fancy speak for checking her out), she hadn't come over out of the blue since senior year in high school, "What's up?"

Her hair was shorter since the last time he saw her (spring break he thinks?), but still cascading over her shoulders like waves and as she had walked passed him she left a scent of cinnamon and strawberry making it all feel very familiar.

He hadn't seen her for a while now, spending most of the last four years away from each other (3.131 miles away to be exact, screw MIT for winning the award for being the farthest away from California in probably the universe), turns out supernatural banshee powers work through Skype perfectly fine.

Well, fine enough. There _was_ one time people at Scott's school thought he was having phone sex on the bathroom because of the screaming and that other time he forgot to turn off his 4G and received a phone bill his dad is still bringing up and it's been three years and how about when Lydia was accused of being a schizophrenic because she kept talking about 'voices' in her 'head' and the time—okay, it wasn't ideal, but it was how they got by. The pack had needed her more than ever, what, with half of their previous pack dead, Derek off in South-America helping other packs and Isaac (not that he was ever useful, but still) eating croissants or wearing berets or whatever he was doing in France with Malia.

Supernatural powers, got it, public wifi connections that work longer than three seconds, no. Looking at you, T-Mobile.

She shrugged as she sat down on his bed, unbuttoning her coat, stuffing her hat in it's pocket and laying it down behind her. "I just came to see if you had an update about Kira's exams."

She looked like she was disappointed with her own excuse (seriously, ever heard of texting? and it wasn't like him and Kira were BFFs who shared everything the second it happened, that spot was reserved for Scott, she should've known that) and he had sent her a funny look. She was acting weird, and Lydia was too cool for weird.

He was just about to sit down on his desk chair before he remembered he was an adult now and he didn't have those teenage hormones to worry about anymore and he wouldn't act like a lovestruck puppy so he could sit down next to her without freaking her or himself out.

Besides, it wasn't like he was still obsessed with her. He'd like to think he was cured of that when they became friends but that would be a lie. It might have chilled a little, but every time there was the slightest sliver of hope it would melt like no tomorrow and he'd back right back where he started.

Even when he was dating Malia he still sometimes found himself thinking _what if_ (he was a horrible person and he better get used to heat because he was going to spend an eternity in hell and karma was going to slay him, definitely) and if another girl didn't do the trick you'd think spending years and miles away from someone would certainly help, but it didn't.

He mostly just ignored it, his feelings, like always, hoping they'd go away that way and she never let on she knew about them still existing.

So she dated a bunch of guys and he dated a few girls and she even saw a guy for an extended period of time and he found himself not really caring which was progress and they fought the supernatural evil together with their friends from literally all over the world using mostly the internet to communicate with each other. Life was weird.

There weren't any real slivers of hope except for his imagination (very vivid, getting himself in trouble for imagination), English teacher-like conspiracy theories (_she ate an apple in my presence and apples represent fertility is she trying to let me know she wants to do me_) and dirty teenage dreams (he doesn't think this needs any elaboration whatsoever).

They were friends, close friends, friendzoned for life. She never, ever implied she liked him as anything more than that or at least tried to stay from the subject as much as possible. They were always dancing around it but nothing substantial ever happened.

(There had been one moment, right before she left for MIT where they were saying goodbye and she meant to kiss him on the cheek but, clumsy as he is, he meant to lean in for a hug and her lips ended up on the corner of his mouth. He had frozen but she had squeezed his hand as they shared a (some sort of) air quote charged air quote look and a few seconds passed in which he thought something might happen, like if he'd leaned over now and kiss her, she'd let him. As always he was too chicken to do anything and probably imagining things (like the way she actually looked disappointed when he didn't) and it was just plain bad timing. 3.131 miles is a lot, you know?)

"Okay, I missed seeing you. In person," she smiles, less tense now, actually showing teeth, as she puts her hand on his thigh, patting it. Both looking down at her hand, she suddenly seems to realize what a hand on a thigh usually means and quickly pulls it back, clearing her throat.

Trying to make it less awkward he decided not to mention anything or look like he was affected by it and retorts, "I understand, I'd miss this face, too."

She rolls her eyes, "I take it back, these past few months have been pure bliss."

He narrows his eyes playfully as he starts one of his monologues, "Really because I remember you repeatedly snapchatting me pictures of yourself saying you missed Beacon Hills, I even vividly remember a particular one in which you were wearing a lacrosse shirt—" She had interrupted him, out of nowhere, by kissing him. Right on the mouth. No doubt about it.

Which brings him back to his original point, it _wasn't_ him.

He's participating, hell yes, he is, but he isn't to blame.

Look, her tongue might be in his mouth and he might be brain dead at the moment and technically disabled for the foreseeable future because he can't feel his limbs and _her_ tongue might be in his _mouth_, but he...doesn't really remember where he was going with this.

Oh, right, _but _he recognizes a moan of pleasure when he hears one.

(It's Lydia's,_ Lydia Martin_, and it's because of something he did, and it's totally awesome.)

His nose brushes her cheek as he shifts a little to get better access to her lips, his hands in her hair and her hands on his wrists, as if she's afraid he'll pull away any second now.

He wouldn't have, trust him, if it wasn't for air not still being a necessity. Damn you 2018, we all believed in you.

As soon as they look at each other something in the air changes. He feels a little awkward and she looks like she can't believe she just did that.

Then he decides to just go for it, since their friendship is probably already ruined and plants his lips firmly on top of hers. He feels her chest vibrate against his, but doesn't really register sound until he moves over to kiss the corner of her mouth, and her cheek and her other cheek and anywhere, really and she whispers his name against his skin.

That's that. No big declarations of love (_I've loved you since the very first time I laid eyes on you!1!;!_) or long, icky conversations (_are we really doing this and if so how do you feel about that and if no let's talk about your reasoning for two hours_). It's just that.

.

It's awfully quiet in the supernatural world so they spend a lot of time together and he holds her hand when they watch movies and they make-out a lot and she rests her hand on his knee and they don't really define what they have and everything seems right in the world for that week and a half.

He hasn't really told Scott because there's nothing to tell, he reminds himself, because as soon as he tells his best friend, it's real and real things break and fall apart and get really messy when they do. He'd rather stay in this little bubble they've created and she seems totally fine with that.

Of course, when the supernatural world is quiet, it just means it's cooking up something incredibly big, murderous, life wrecking and incredibly annoying so they have to talk eventually.

He just didn't really expect what she had to say about it.

"Stiles," she mumbles against his chest, about halfway through an episode of the walking dead she had rested her there, slipping her hand under his shirt to rest on his side, claiming she had cold hands. Her voice is laced with sleepiness and he hums back, his own eyes half closed. "Maybe we shouldn't tell anyone."

His eyes shoot open at his, sitting up slightly, "What?" He can't ignore the way his heart drops to his stomach but still seems to beat loudly in his ears.

She sits up, too, using his thighs and eventually leaving one hand on his knee as she rests on her knees, "I mean, I don't want to play down what we have but it might make things harder for everyone, you know, the pack. It could be a huge distraction and Malia might be pissed since you swore to her you didn't know what everyone was talking about when they said you had the biggest crush on me and with Allison away at the police academy half the time Scott has been more cranky than ever and—

"That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard."

"Okay, _fine_," she bites back sternly, crossing her arms, "I overheard Isaac mentioning something about a bet he made with the others on how long it would take us to get together and I don't want them to win." Something flashes across her eyes, determination, he thinks and he's kind of turned on right now.

"Who?"

"Any of them, obviously." He raises his eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. "Isaac, especially." He smiles proudly, putting his arm around her shoulder as he pulls her back into his chest.

"It sounds kinda fun," he answers honestly, the allure of a forbidden love being seriously overused but not overrated per se. The climax of those stories was usually been caught, but he thinks between the two of them they could prevent that part from happening.

"Just for a little while," she smirks happily, her hand disappearing back under his shirt and slowly drawing circles on his skin, staring at his lips for some reason, "Until we find a way to win and rub it into their faces for the rest of eternity."

"Was Scott part of it?" She manages to tear her eyes away from his mouth, eyebrows furrowed together.

"Heard he started it. Allison, too. That bitch. I thought we were friends."

"Unbelievable," he mocks, shaking his head to himself, blatantly aware of their own hypocrisy, "The nerve. And behind our _backs_?" He lets out a small gasp, feigning hurt.

She tries to hide her smile, dead panning, "It's disgusting, that's what it is."

.

At first it _is_ fun, really fun. It's like having their own little special secret that no one knows about. Something about totally ignoring each other in public that's kind of hot. (And to be honest, it isn't like they have all the time in the world on their hands. Working by day, fighting evil by night is pretty time consuming as it is, not even mentioning the trying to secretly date one of your best friends part.)

Besides, he's waited so long for this, if he gets to be with her, what does he really care what the circumstances are. He can totally wait a little longer.

Scott's pack is by far the longest time he's been apart of anything, ever. He even got kicked out of chess club because _apparently_ nerds can't handle other nerds beating them at their own game and then making sarcastic comments about it. Lying to your pack however, seems like an out kickable reason.

But he's not lying, per se, more like withholding. Yep, Satan and him are in a close budding relationship at the moment but as long as he doesn't die he's cool. Literally.

Turns out besides screaming, Lydia is very talented at leaving one hanging.

"I'm just going to get some popcorn," he says to no one in particular, as he points his thumb towards the kitchen. Half of the pack crashed his place (don't these people have jobs? responsibilities?) out of nowhere, and if it hadn't been for Lydia's impeccable timing of arriving fifteen minutes late to everything, they would've walked in on something pretty explicit, probably.

"I'll get some drinks," Lydia adds casually, and if it hadn't been for her mouth on his neck exactly fifteen seconds later, he would've thought she just went over to get some drinks.

She's very talented, moving over and kissing and sucking on his lips as she reaches up to get out a few glasses. Then she throws some microwave popcorn he got out into the device, setting the timer on one minute. He can't believe she's multitasking while making out. What's next? Painting her nails while they, you know, do it?

(to be fair, she almost knocked over two glasses and it took her five tries to punch in 60 seconds without opening her eyes and he thinks she had to steady herself for a moment or two when he pushed her against the counter)

She pulls away momentarily, staring up at him from under eyelashes as she bites down on her lip. Oh no, he recognizes that face. She puts a hand on his chest, slowly trailing down. He gulps, shaking his head as he glances at the entrance of his kitchen. Their friends are _literally_ twenty feet away.

He's about to protest as her hand reaches his belt knuckle and she doesn't seem to have any intention of stopping when she silences him with a kiss. The damage's already been done, that's for sure, his pants feeling unusually tight at the moment.

He doesn't recall hearing the timer go off, he just recalls a cloud of smoke coming from his microwave and Lydia innocently reaching up to wipe his lips before taking a few steps back.

"You burned the popcorn?" It's Allison, her voice booming throughout his entire kitchen as he pretends he finds the tiles behind the counter very interesting.

"Seriously Stiles, can't you do anything?" He sees her smirking from back in the kitchen, a bottle of coke under her arm as she carries the glasses in her hands and disappears back into his living room. That sneaky little…. _Ugh_.

"Dude," Scott shakes his head as he holds up the bag, scrunching up his nose. He holds the bag so that his friend can see the content of it, revealing a black mess.

"I'll do it again," he mumbles, wondering how long he can hide a hard on behind a counter before anyone notices he's not turning around.

"Do you need assistance, sweetie? I could set the timer for you," Allison cooes in a baby voice, squeezing his cheek before a smile spreads across her face and she punches him on the arm.

"No, no, I'll be fine," he manages to pipe out, rubbing his arm, reminding himself to check Allison's DNA for radioactive particles. He had this theory she was secretly Wonder Woman.

"Don't burn the house down," he hears her laugh, more like _cackle_, as she and Scott return to their position on his couch and he mocks their laugh loudly, hoping they'll hear how he's not amused at all. She thinks she's so funny. His friends suck.

He looks down at his pants. _Lydia_ sucks. He could definitely use the thirty seconds.

Two days later, he comes over to her place, and she 'forgets' to tell him Allison is supposed to come over any second. Which, of course, only makes it more fun for her.

She's fresh from work, wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse, which was usually tucked in, hanging loosely over it. She did research in her spare time, solving mathematical problems that only gave him headaches and decided she would teach on the side, _just for fun_. He just spend his day not trying to get fired from his assistant position at the CSI department of San Francisco (even though he did pretty much all the work but hey, health insurance and easy access to police files, what else could a guy want in life?).

Sometimes he hated how smart she was. Easy smart, like she didn't even have to think about the things she was doing.

She's sitting down in front of her mirror, taking her hair out of a bun and he kisses her shoulder as a greeting, throwing his coat on her bed.

She looks at him via the mirror, smiling at him as she takes the last pin from her hair making his heart twinge in his chest. He couldn't believe he was so lucky that he got to kiss her and touch her and hold her.

She gets up from her seat, leaning back against her make-up table as she slips out of her heels before walking over to him slowly. Just looking at her, he feels his heartbeat speed up twenty times as fast. She definitely making about twelve fantasies come true right now. (He can faintly hear the instrumental of _hot for teacher_ play on repeat in his mind as background noise.)

She hitches up her skirt a little, before straddling him on the bed, a knee on either side of him as she runs her hands over the side of his face before resting them on his neck.

She leans in even slower, before pressing her mouth against his and biting down on his lip in the process. Is she trying to kill him?

Normally, he'd feel some sort of restraint but this is Lydia and his pride is currently situated somewhere far away from this room. China, maybe. His hands slid under her skirt as his thumb traces the lace of her underwear on her hips before making his way over to her ass. It's _then_ she informs him Allison is on her way.

"Huh?" He even asked, not being able to process anything correctly at the moment.

"Allison," she mumbles against his lips, before pressing a kiss there, "Coming over." She kisses him again.

He groans loudly, and she laughs against his mouth as he pulls away from her. She smiles at him sweetly, like she hadn't planned this all along. He thinks she's trying to break the record for longest foreplay ever.

He leans in one more time to peck her lips (he really doesn't want to leave her) before getting up from her bed and getting the hell away from there before Allison shoots him in the back with the small crossbow she carries in her purse. Argents, man, Argents.

Eventually he gets his payback, and it's bittersweet.

He's supposed to be going to Scott's room to get his laptop so he can do some cyber hacking, but Lydia pulls him into the bathroom before he can even do so much as lay eyes on his best bud's door.

"What are you doing? They could see us." He tells her but he doesn't seem to really care when she puts his hands on her ass firmly, pressing her own body against his as she connects their lips.

Her tongue is in his mouth in record time and he feels a little lightheaded when she skims her hand over his belt, before slipping under his shirt and settling on his chest instead.

Soon, they're pressed against the door and he wants nothing more than to sneak his hands under that ridiculously short skirt and touch her, everywhere. He settles on running one hand over her waist, the other in her hair.

There's a knock on the door, because there always seems to be one whenever someone's in these sort of situations and he hears Kira's voice through the door.

"Lydia, are you okay? I thought I heard some noise."

Lydia rests her head against his shoulder, panting as she tries to catch her breathe. Damnit, why did Kira have to be such a good human being?

"I'm—" Lydia clears her throat, realizing she sounds a little strained, "I'm fine. I just knocked over a pile of magazines." She has her game face on and instead of her always teasing him, he think it's his turn now, as he starts kissing down her neck. He doesn't know where this newfound confidence is suddenly coming from, but he'll take it.

"Oh, okay," Kira sounds unconvinced, "Do you need anything?"

First her neck, then he sucks on the spot where her collarbone meets her shoulder (she squirms and he smirks against her skin) and then he moves lower and lower, oh well. She dug her own grave.

"Kira, I'm, mhmm, just—Oh god—Kira, I'm, uh, having a lady pro—_oh!_—blem, give me a minute," she manages to stumble out, like she just got her first period or something like that.

"Okay, sweetie," he hears her reply and he doesn't know if she's being sarcastic or sincere but she's leaving so he doesn't really care.

"We should probably stop," he breathes against her skin as she shakes her head, eyes closed. "No, _Stiles_." She sounds like a five year old child and normally he would give her anything she wants, but not tonight, Satan, not tonight.

He smirks at her as he presses a kiss to her forehead, her cheeks flushed before opening the door and slipping out. She refuses to look at him, even when he drives her home, but she probably gives him the best goodbye kiss he's ever had.

1-0 for him. Well, actually more like 1-6 or 7 but he's catching up!

.

Even when they try _really_ hard not to seem like they want to rip each others' clothes off because three weeks of being with Lydia Martin without actually having you know, air quote nervous giggle _been_ airquote with her, they all still seem to notice something's up.

It's all fun and games until you're in a room with a bunch of assassins and they start questioning your motives.

One night when Kira, Isaac and Scott are out taking care of supernatural business and they're waiting for them to return in Derek's loft, which has become like their own personal batcave, Allison keeps sending him weird looks.

He doesn't know why because they really are trying. Trying to ignore the memories (of how they were just in his jeep and he had the amazing experience of touching her boob, under the shirt, over the bra and how she had arched into his palm as he kissed her neck and she made these little sounds that—wow, okay getting off topic—before they had to go in, separately, of course) and now to hardcore avoid eye contact.

Malia, munching on a handful of skittles, kicks his shin, hard, like his bones are unable to break (newsflash coyote, they're not) and he immediately reaches down to rub the sore spot. He thinks sometimes they forget he's the only human here without any defensive skills whatsoever. Sometimes he feels like _all_ of the other four members of Maroon 5 besides Adam Levine. "What the hell, Tate?"

She raises her eyebrows from her seat across from him on the couch, "Why are you acting weird?"

"What do you mean?" He feels Lydia's eyes bore into the side of his head and it takes everything in him not to turn his head right now.

Really, him and Malia were so over, it felt like it had happened twenty years ago. Malia's vocabulary didn't really contain the word 'pining' and they had fallen back into some-sort-of-friendship like she hadn't taken his virginity on a ratty couch in the basement of a mental facility.

In other news, that he really didn't want to admit, it felt really good to see Lydia jealous.

She huffs, "Usually, you can't stop talking and now you've been staring at an empty wall for ten minutes. You look like you're retarded."

"Malia," Stiles groans, sternly because apparently 'tact' also didn't ring a bell, and she rolls her eyes. "Sorry, _mentally ill_."

Yes, because when you say it like that it's _less_ offensive.

(Look, she did live in a forest for a large part of her life and at least she had learned to use her words instead of her teeth. He had a scar the size of Texas on his forearm from when she didn't agree on his choice of tv channel.)

"She's right," Liam pipes up from beside him, and Stiles turns his head to glare at him. "I usually have to listen to metal to tune you out and I haven't had the urge, yet. Something's off."

That sneaky little...! _We took you in! We took care of you! We taught you things! I let you borrow my Star Wars DVD collection! God, I invited you to to Scott and Stiles' Private movie night!_

"I don't...feel...well. Bad sushi."

"Man, I told you not to try Kira's cooking. She always says she knows how to do things, but she never does," the younger boy, who's currently in his first year of community college because _somebody _got lazy with homework because he suddenly decided being a teen wolf was the bomb and took priority and got a little cocky, responds in an _I Told You_ _So And I'm Totally Better Than You_ manner. "Remember that time she told us she was an excellent driver and proceeded to run us into a tree?"

"Liam, that's racist."

"Shut up, Malia."

She growls and they start to bicker (well, it's mainly just Malia calling him names and Liam looking like he's going to shit himself) and he applauds himself for getting away so easily.

Lydia doesn't, however as he sees Allison eye her warily as he exchanges a look with her. Shit.

The brunette pulls his—whatever, along to the side and he really wishes Liam would bite him right now so he would have better hearing, or, you know, _at least_ that Malia would shut her pie hole for two seconds.

"What's going…..Did...happen?" He manages to hear the tallest girl ask, arms crossed over her chest as she does her infamous Argent interrogation stare down.

He tries not to look their way, but it's not easy task when he's forced to look at Malia throwing Skittles at Liam as he yells for her to stop and her calling him a whiny bitch baby. He can't focus on their voices with this scene playing out in front of him.

Idiots. How do they even survive at all?

"...nothing...MIT...aren't as close…"

He doesn't actually hear Allison say it but he can feel her skeptical look in his bones, "Really?"

Lydia nods and Allison raises her eyebrows.

"...believe..when...sex eyes...feelings...undressing...jealous?"

His eyes practically bulge out of his head as he focuses on chewing on a few lonesome skittles that came into his path, wishing Malia would just throw the entire bag at once. How does he always end up with babysitting duties?

"...NOT...!"

"Yes, you were! You...Malia...like...Kira."

Lydia rolls her eyes, and he recognizes the bitchy face she is putting on right now. High School Lydia invented it and it could make anyone's blood run cold.

"Kira...five years...let it go...Stiles...never together…"

Except for Allison's of course.

"...sure..."

"...any feelings."

"...lying to yourself...before...too late."

It was really freaking difficult to make sense of a conversation when you were only able to hear half of it. He carefully looks at them out of the corner of his eyes and sees them just looking at each other. They were apparently having one of those conversations with their eyes that him and Scott never seem to be able to manage.

(The last time they tried, Stiles ended up with an arrow in his arm because Scott didn't understand the concept of him dropping to the floor like a brick so he, the supernatural alpha creature, could attack the bad guy currently pointing the arrow at his throat. The pointy part of the arrow. At his neck. Instead, the apex predator blinked at Stiles laying on the floor, wondering what the hell happened—"_I thought you fainted, dude!" "Yeah, and the fact he was holding a sharp object to my neck wasn't totally more important than me fainting._"—and the evil jerk just picked him up and stabbed his arm for the dramatic effect. That was some Peter Hale fucked up shit.)

"I don't get it, Lydia, but fine," he hears her voice, now clearer as they walk back to the living room part of the loft. Allison pulls the bag of Skittles out of Malia's hand, and Malia growls but she'll never stand up to Allison. Mainly because each time she tried her boyfriend reminded her the older brunette had stabbed him multiple times. Partly because the one time she did try Allison taught her a lesson, broke a table in the process, and made her work at a fastfood joint for a month to pay for the table _she_ broke.

Besides, he thinks Malia kind of likes Allison, in an older sister kind of way (and because she doesn't fuck around).

He doesn't dare to look at Lydia as she sits down next to the curly brunette, crossing her legs over each other and he starts to sweat a little as he sees the smooth, pale skin of her legs out of the corner of his eyes.

Damnit Lydia.

99 percent of him was sure she was doing it on purpose, too.

Allison is watching him like a hawk, and he realizes he's very nervously pulling on the end of his t-shirt and he's swallowed tightly three or four times in the last two minutes.

Then, like God is pulling some sick joke, he's saved by Kira and Isaac pulling in a bleeding and beaten up Scott as they lay him down on Derek's kitchen table, who will probably yell at them (again) for getting blood on it (again) (_That's mahogany! You little shits_) but Scott's just been stabbed by a dagger that prevents him from healing, so Allison has to stitch him up and Derek can suck it.

South-America. Psh. ¿Tu no abandon-o us-o si?

Everybody is freaking out and yelling and Scott can't muster the strength to get them to shut up, just rolls his eyes and focuses his energy on trying to get his girlfriend to calm down, her hands shaking and her eyes watery. So much for not having any feelings, Ms. Argent, I see you. Uh huh, I see you.

Later, when Allison is brushing Scott's hair back, still on the table, like he just almost died, which he kind of did, and they can hear them whispering, he finally shares a look with Lydia. Not before he almost rolls his eyes, because even though he can't hear them he can imagine what they're saying.

_Oh I love you so much, I can't live without you, God, I'm so in love with you, I could've lost you, boo hoo! _He hated them both. (Okay, and he was a little jealous. A little!)

Isaac and Malia are asleep on the couch, Malia perched on top of him like she's a toddler clinging onto her favorite stuffed animal (they're both idiots but he thinks they fit together like peanut butter and jelly), Kira is making a few calls to her mother outside about the dagger and he thinks Liam went to get some magic healing powder from their favorite veterinarian. Scott's stable, but being able to walk tomorrow would be a definite plus.

Especially when some lunatic is out there trying to kill him.

Lydia sighs a little as he puts his hand on her knee, squeezing tightly, her eyes saying she could use a hug right about now but also conveying they can't. Even when one of their best friends just died, she's still determined to win this dumb game. Silly but hot.

She looks over at Allison before quickly brushing her lips against his arm, putting her hand on top of his and intertwining their fingers.

Small moments like that, really make up for disaster they call sneaking around and being questioned by a coyote, a werewolf and a professional hunter while two of them throw Skittles at each other. Oh _life_.

.

"Just a little while longer," she had whispered against his lips earlier, like it hadn't been almost two months and they hadn't told anyone. It only occurred to him now, that in order to win, the would never be able to come clean, could they?

But she'd looked so pretty as he pulled back to watch her, on his bed, her hair around her like a halo, her pink lips parted and her chest heaving up and down. He loved her—he knew that, she probably did, too, shit, everyone and their mother and _their_ mother knew—and he would do anything for her. Even if he hadn't said anything of it out loud. Even if it meant it would hurt like hell.

After a while, the familiar feeling of doubt had started to ooze into his heart and caused a frenzy in his brain and he doesn't know what to think. She's Lydia Martin, he's just—_Stiles_. It wouldn't be weird if he was just someone to pass the time with until she found someone like Jackson, or Aiden. Someone who breathed confidence and sexiness, not sarcasm and awkwardness.

Maybe she was ashamed of him, maybe that's why she didn't want to tell anyone. He didn't know what to think anymore. It just made a hell of a lot more sense than pretending not be in a relationship (or whatever, they don't talk about it) for seven weeks.

He sits up and runs a hand over his face, and she sits up, situated behind him as she leans her forehead against the back of his shoulder. She places a kiss there, over his t-shirt and rests her other hand on his waist. "Are we okay?"

He nods his head distractedly, sighing a little as he looks at her over his shoulder. It's a bittersweet combination of love and pain he feels in his chest, but he nods again, this time more firmly. He forces a smile on his face.

"Always."

She doesn't seem to notice and returns the sentiment, pulling him back down before he _absolutely_ has to leave. He might not be a teenager anymore, but standing up his dad for dinner would definitely earn him multiple sermons on values and manners.

He doesn't mention it again, doesn't ask her when he's allowed to tell Scott, because it's really turned into that, hasn't it? He would need to ask her permission, like she asked his for keeping it a secret. And he had agreed.

He doesn't know what they are, and he's afraid to ask. Are they together? Are they friends with benefits? He knows he's not seeing anyone else, wouldn't even dream about it, but after years of being her friend, he still can't break off the wall she puts up to hide what she's really feeling.

And it's not like they even have the time for him to sit her down and stare her down until she might let loose some information. Soon after that night, Malia gets stabbed when she tries to concoct her own plan, disregarding Scott's orders for her to stay back. She was too impulsive, too inexperienced for what they were up against, she hadn't listened, and in the progress the dagger scraped the side of her heart.

He was there, when she got stabbed, and so was Lydia, and they didn't have any other choice but to bring her to the hospital. A real hospital. She was bleeding out, every breath she took pumping more blood into her chest and all he saw was red, red on her chest, red coming out of her mouth, red on his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding.

Kira was studying pre-med—knowing she wouldn't be able to actually practice it for long in one place but wanting to help others and them anyway—but she was on the other side of town and Allison, who had somewhat medical knowledge, was in Derek's loft, what choice did they really have? She would've died.

Lydia was frozen, tears rolling down her cheeks, he didn't even think she noticed as she drove them, Isaac a sobbing mess in the front seat as Stiles himself applied pressure to his girlfriend's chest, Scott left behind at the site to clean up the mess.

They operate, apparently she's not healing at all, and she crashed two times during the surgery but she's alive. As alive as you can be when you're in a medically induced coma. He knows they took a huge risk by taking her here, but what's Derek going to when he finds out? Yell them to death? She's alive. _Thank God_, she's alive.

"You did great," she tells him softly, resting one hand on his back as she comes to stand next to him, looking at Malia from behind glass. She's in the ICU and only one person is allowed in at the time. Scott just came back and Isaac's in there now, holding her hand between both of his, forehead resting on his own.

"One of these days one of us is going to end up dead," he says, surprised he's even saying it out loud, his voice barely a whisper. She looks at him, and doesn't say anything as she looks back at their injured friend.

"I saw the way you looked at her," she says lowly and he turns his head to look at her, knitting his eyebrows together.

"What do you mean?" She takes his hand off his back as Kira approaches them and he looks at her for a few moments longer as she fills her in. What did she mean? How he looked at who? Did he check out a nurse unaware of his actions? He's getting tired of always having to guess what she means or how she feels or what she wants.

If there was thing in life he'd thought would be easy, it would be being with Lydia, but it turns out it isn't, at all.

He doesn't intentionally stop spending time with her, but between work and his dad and trying to situate whatever piece of crap did what he did to Malia—it's just not like before. He's busy, she's busy, half of the time he doesn't even try to come up with a good excuse as of why he can't meet up with her and all of the time she doesn't say anything about it.

She doesn't question him, but she doesn't smile at him whenever he enters the room anymore, and she doesn't desperately try to find a moment alone. Maybe she just doesn't care, maybe she expected this.

No one notices the newfound tension, no one notices how they're avoiding each other, no one notices the strange looks she keeps sending him and no one notices he's in pain.

"Are you okay?" Scott approaches him in the loft one night, looking around to make sure no one's watching them as Stiles is bend over the table, files and evidence spread all over it, trying to make sense of it, any of it.

Except Scott. Of course. Except Scott.

"I'm fine," he says distractedly, looking over another blood sample test he ran at work but like the last twenty times he looked at it, he doesn't find anything that can help them. He doesn't even bother looking at his best friend because he knows the look he's giving him right now by heart. He's seen him too many times.

"Is this about Malia?" Scott asks as he leans back against the table, keeping his eyes on the rest of the pack. "She seems okay, you know, and we'll find whoever did this."

He looks over his shoulder to confirm it, resting his eyes on Malia for a second or two. She does seem okay. Beaten up and broken down, supporting herself with crutches and sleeping most of the day, but she's a fighter.

"I'm fine," he repeats sternly, tightening his grip on the table as he visibly tenses and Scott scoffs in response.

"You just yelled at Liam for two minutes because he spilled coffee over an empty sheet of paper, I don't think fine is the right word."

"I'm just—I'm tired, okay?" Of lots of things, that he obviously can't talk to Scott about it because after all of this, after everything, he can't not keep his promises to Lydia.

"That's crap," Scott huffs, uncrossing and re-crossing his arms as he stares at his friend, "Is something.." He pauses, hesitating, as he wets his lips, "Do you still have feelings for Malia?"

He cackles, he fricking honest to God cackles, because no, he loves Malia, but not like that, and how seriously screwed up is it that he's lying to his best friend about some girl he's been with for almost three months? Or _was_ with, who knows?

He knows Lydia isn't just some girl and she'll never be—he doesn't know why he keeps lying to himself.

"I just, I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Stiles looks at him, seriously this time and Scott nods, something in his eyes telling him he understands as he reaches out to pat his shoulder.

"You know I'm here for you."

"Thanks, but are you sure you're not going to link me to Kira next?" He remarks sarcastically and Scott laughs deeply in return, patting his shoulder again before returning to the living room area to probably kiss Isaac's ouchies. Seriously, that dude needed to grow a pair. He's been more depressed and broody as usual and that's saying a lot.

He shakes his head to himself, a smile still on his face as he locks eyes with Lydia. She swallows hard, her eyes distraught as she brushes some hair from her face. God, he fricking _loves_ her and he doesn't know why it's this hard.

It's past two a.m. when he walks over to his car—and man, five a.m. is going to feel even shittier in the morning than generally—when she asks for a ride home, nothing else.

They don't speak on the way there, and at this rate this is going, he thinks he's going to break off the steering wheel from gripping onto it as hard as he is. He doesn't like silence.

After he walks her to the door, he nods because she doesn't seem to make any move to say anything or do anything but just as he turns around she grabs his arm and he stills, turning around and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"You know, guys usually don't break up with me, I break-up with them," she states matter of factly after a moment or two of just staring at each other. He wants nothing more than to lean over and kiss her, his lips practically twitching to feels hers like they did before. "And when they do, I'd like to think they would inform me of the fact they're doing so."

He opens his mouth to speak and she takes a step closer, reaching out to put her hand on his forearm, tugging on it until he takes it out of his pocket so she can connect their fingers.

"Do you want to break up?" She asks, her voice soft and vulnerable, like she'd actually be affected if he said yes right now. As if _he_ would ever want to break-up with _her_.

"No, never ever ever ever EVER," is what he wants to say, but instead something holds him back and he hears himself say, "I didn't know we were even together."

She drops his hand, straightening her shoulder as she looks away from his eyes. "I—I," she starts, but nothing follows.

"Look, Lydia," he runs a hand over his face, "I think you know how I feel about you, but if someone were to point a gun at me right now and ask me how you feel, I would get shot, because I wouldn't know! And I think you're amazing and I would live with you in cave in secret like hermits if that's what you wanted, if that would make you happy, but I don't know if it would."

"Hermits?" She doesn't seem to follow, an amused smile playing on her lips and he doesn't know how to explain any of it and this is serious damnit.

"Lydia," he groans, because out of all the things he just said she picks up hermits? For real?

"At first I thought you wanted to hide, _us_, if there even is an us, because of the bet those, those _losers_ made about us but then I realized that maybe you just wanted to hide me because you're uncertain or ashamed—"

"Stiles."

"I mean you're Lydia and I'm Stiles and you're amazing and I'm not and then you kissed me and we did like, stuff and I dreamed about being with you probably since I left my mother's uterus—" He can't believe he just brought his mother's uterus into this.

"Stiles."

"—but you didn't notice me until my friend literally got bitten by a werewolf and dead bodies started dropping everywhere and even then we didn't hit it off immediately and I get you wanting to be with someone else, someone better but I wish you would just tell me because—"

"Stiles!" It finally occurred to him she's been trying to shut him up for a while now, but what can he say? Once he starts talking, he ordinarily doesn't seem able to stop.

He looks at her expectantly, his chest heaving because he's kind of out of breath and she seems to be looking for the right words.

"One time, when I was fourteen during my debutante preparation programme there was this contest for charity, that they called friendly competition, that was about selling the most cookies," she finally starts, rolling her eyes at the memory and he sends her a confused look. What did this have to do with _anything_? He's about to respond when she continues, "I was close to winning when this _absolute sweetheart_ Anna insisted she was going to win because her daddy was going to buy however many boxes of cookies she wanted him to," she huffs and he can't stop thinking about how he just mentioned his mother's uterus and she didn't run away.

"Long story short, I won and Anna went to boarding school after her father received pictures of her smoking weed behind the school." She raises her eyebrows, concluding, "I don't like losing. I never have, and I never will."

He raises his eyebrows, too, in response, and she sighs. "Okay, maybe I also thought that if we told everyone they, it would ruin us."

He's trying really hard to remain silent here as he just looks at her and she rolls her eyes, "Remember when Scott and Allison got back together sophomore year of college and they almost broke-up because he couldn't think straight during pack outings if she was there?"

"And then Isaac and Malia got together and Liam kept making comments about werewolves and coyotes and malformed babies until Isaac literally stabbed Liam in the leg with a fork," Stiles adds, in thought and she nods quietly in agreement, although the look on her face gives away the fact that wasn't exactly what she meant.

"I want us to be real, just not _too_ real, you know? Out there, in the real world... Things aren't as simple. I didn't want things to change between us and make it harder but I guess I didn't notice they already had."

All he hears is that she wants to be with him (_him_!) and he meet her eyes in surprise. He thinks part of him will always be surprised she'd want anything to with him in any way whatsoever.

"But, if you don't want us to be, I understand. It's not too late to back out."

"What?" He blurts out because _hello_? He literally had a fifteen year plan to get together with her (he's pretty sure he accidentally e-mailed the entire pack, including her, a draft one time).

She hesitates, before explaining, "I saw how you looked when Malia almost died, like a part of you was dying, too and then you stopped coming over and I thought maybe you changed your mind about me."

"For a genius you're really dumb," he mutters and she sends him a weird look. He speaks up, "Me and Malia are friends, and not the kind of friends we are, _platonic_ friends. Totally platonic. I would've probably looked the same if it was Kira or Liam or—or Isaac."

She sends him a look.

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, maybe not Isaac."

A small smile plays on her lips and he really made this much harder than it had to be, didn't he?

Her hazel eyes are bright and honest in the moonlight, her red lips matching the lacy red dress she's wearing under her coat, her hair straightened today. He's been wanting to touch it all night, to see if it was a silky as it looked.

"I thought it was pretty obvious I've been pining after you for years now?" Even though the entire world knew about Stiles' Obvious And Famous Crush On Lydia, he can't help but flush at his words anyway.

"I might've known you had the slightest crush on me," she retorts cynically, her eyes shining with amusement. He can't restrain himself anymore and reaches out and brushes some of her hair behind her ear (and it's totally as silky as expected) before resting his hand on her cheek. She leans into his touch and he knows, he knows they are real, and he doesn't care who knows.

"Hey, Lydia," he says, proud smirk gracing his lips, "I bet you can't NOT kiss me."

She chuckles lightly, putting her hand on his wrist, as she stands on her tiptoes to reach his lips, "It's on."

After a kiss that leaves them both breathless, he remarks, "I really don't mind losing when this is the consolation prize." He seems to reconsider his choice of words as he adds, "Not that kissing _you _would ever be considered a consolation prize in anyone's book, I mean it's amazing, it's probably the best kissing I've ever been a part of. I'm sure you haven't had many complaints or refunds or—"

"Stiles," she sighs, but her eyes give her away. She leans up to kiss him again as she struggling to find her keys in her coat before opening her front door. She recently got a place of her own and he's definitely aware of the perks of that fact, especially right now.

She pushes him against her bedroom door once they manage to make it up the stairs in one piece and he groans in response. She starts tugging on shirt, and he pulls it over his head quickly as she walks them towards the bed. They fall down on it and he reconnects their mouths, her lips parting beneath his own. They're both on their sides, his hands in her hair and her hands on his chest, legs tangled together.

Suddenly, his surroundings melt away and he just feels her hand resting over his heart, how she gasped softly, how her tongue against his was reason enough to propose probably, that familiar scent of cinnamon and strawberry engulfing him as she rolls them over, her hair falling around their heads like a curtain.

"So, we're together?" He asks insecurely in between kisses and she laughs into his mouth before she sits up, knees on either side of him. She pulls her dress over her head and unclips her bra, taking his hands and putting them on top of her breasts, cocking an eyebrow. He just gulped like a fish on dry land and he can't really think straight, even his vision failing him and starting to become a little hazy.

She leans down and kisses his neck, then his earlobe before whispering, "How obvious do you need _me_ to be?"

"Very obvious, m'am," he responds and he doesn't know why and how he's able to come up with the most awkward responses to everything, but she just laughs it off and continues to prove how much together they are for the following two hours.

Jesus Christ, five a.m. is _definitely_ going to sting like never before.

.

"So, Isaac," Lydia starts, casually as she sits down on the armrest next to him on the couch. He looks up and so does Malia, who was laying on his chest. She tsks, "Isaaaaaaaac."

"What do you want?" Malia growls before Isaac can say anything and she's possessive and very cute so Lydia smirks and reaches out to pet her head affectionately. This only seems to piss her off more, her eyes practically red with anger.

"You interested in a little bet?"

"What?" Malia snaps, narrowing her eyes and Isaac seems to rub her back comfortingly without even noticing, his eyes alarmed as he speaks at the same time, his tone innocent, "Nooooo?"

"Because I heard you bet on _me_," Lydia smirks, eyebrows raised as Malia now also turns her head to look up at him in expectation. They probably hadn't asked her to join in on their little competition because well, frankly, she didn't care. The strawberry blonde can practically see his palms get sweaty as he looks at her in panic.

She might not have many offensive supernatural abilities but she knows how to make a grown man cry, and everyone else knows this, too. Especially this veterinarian in training ("What are you going to do when they bring in a cat?" "_Stiles_." "What, it's a genuine concern. Wouldn't want anything to claw off his _pretty_ face.") in front of her, who's already looking like he just lost control over his bladder.

"How much?" She asks, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, tightly and he whimpers, "Thirty."

"Thirty dollars? Mhm.. I suppose I could use some new nail polish." He gulps and then nods, unsurely. She breaks out into her show-smile. "Red, like the color of blood, you might know it?" She digs her nails into his shoulder to emphasize her point, before continuing sweetly, "I heard it's on sale at Macy's. I'd like to have two bottles for this party I have on Friday."

He nods again, in understanding and she pets his shoulder before stalking over to Liam, who'd been admiring the scene in front of him like she had expected. He winces in fear as she towers over him. "Blue dress. H&M. I'll text you the details. You have till monday."

"Derek."

"_What_?" He looks up, from placing down kisses on Braeden's stomach, fire in his eyes, and she tilts her head, pursing her lips. She's considering making him pay for what he did, but then she remembers Braeden's away half of the year on killing assignments and she figures that's enough punishment as it is.

"Nevermind!" He's been through enough (and she had seen enough of _him_ to last her through her next five lifetimes. Who the hell has sex during the middle of the day while all of their friends are around? She thought _she_ had patented that. Four for you, Derek).

She finds Kira jamming to some top forty song and proceeds to pull off her headphones and stares her down. "You bet on my love life. Remember that cute purse we saw at Zara but I didn't buy because I felt like I had too many already? I don't. Please get it for me."

Kira's eyes just widen as she nods, stammering something about being sorry as Lydia flips her hair over her shoulder. Kira is old news. She spots her new prey.

She narrows her eyes as she finds Scott and Allison eating lunch at the kitchen table, like they _didn't _do the worst thing imaginable to their friend. She slams her hands down on top of the table, gathering their attention fast enough, Scott almost choking on his sandwich at the look on her face.

"I want that blue necklace you bought two weeks ago," she informs Allison before turning to Scott and pointing her finger at him, knowing he must've heard her scold Isaac about it. She almost rolls her eyes at her own request, but remembers what Stiles specifically asked her. "Two bags of Hershey kisses, five boxes of oreo, a bag of reese's peanut butter cups, gummy bears and In-N-Out Burger take-out tonight for dinner. Your threat."

"Sure," Scott smiles brightly, his adorable naivety making her actually roll her eyes as he seems relieved all she wanted was for him to do something for her.

"Or else?" Allison challenges her at the same time as Scott speaks and he gives a look that Allison pointedly ignores, but Lydia didn't come unprepared. Oh no, she didn't.

"_Or_ else that video you accidentally sent me while you were trying to delete it will go online."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Why not? I heard Two Girls One Cup was a huge success. Why not give the sequel One Girl One Badly Performed Version Of Shake It Off In Her Underwear the same chance?"

"You're such a traitor, you promised to never show it to anyone! You said you deleted it."

Yeah, because Lydia was the kind of girl who would delete a once in a lifetime bribe video just because Allison kept sending her memes of '_delete it fat_'.

"Oh, wait, I think I hear my phone ringing. Must be America's Funniest Home Videos."

Scott is trying to keep up with their banter, but is developing whiplash in the progress. (He'd _really_ like to see that video and considering raising his hand to pose the question, but the glares they're sending each other are holding him back.)

Allison crosses her arms, Lydia crosses her arms.

"_Fine_."

Allison shakes her head in defeat, Lydia smirks.

"Where's Stiles anyway?" Scott dares to ask as the hostile environment seems to diffuse a little, going for the safe zone.

"He's at work, got called into a crime scene this morning."

"On a Saturday?" Scott asks, frowning as he takes a sip of his milk.

"Well, I guess the murderer didn't take his free weekend in account when he, you know, committed a felony and_ killed_ someone."

"You were with him this morning?" Allison smirks, pleased with herself as she leans back on her chair, as she takes a bite of the sandwich she seemed to be sharing with Scott.

Lydia smirks though, knowing Allison is trying to get her to deny it. "Yeah, we had mind blowing, steaming hot _sex_. Best I ever had."

The looks on their faces are priceless. Best part is, it wasn't even a lie. Stiles was a little inexperienced compared to her, but he made up with it with his eagerness to learn and eagerness to please her. Also, feelings. Feelings made it much better. It could've lasted three seconds and it still would've been better than the majority of her previous conquests.

It's the second time she makes someone choke that day, and not to mention on the same sandwich. She has a talent.

Suddenly she hears a nervous laugh behind her and as she turns around she sees Stiles, his face flustered and colored red, and she can't help but smile, biting down on her lip to hide it. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly as he feels everyone's eyes on him.

Lydia then makes a show out of walking over to him and he looks away from her to look at his friends and back to her before she plants one on him, hard. He faintly hears someone whistle and the sound of clapping. God have mercy.

And that's that. Allison squeaks and hugs her and Scott gives him a congratulatory pat on the back, Liam sends him the thumbs up and nothing really changes.

If anything, they work better together now there isn't so much unresolved sexual tension in their midst.

They're still Stiles and Lydia. Now they're just the New and Improved Stiles and Lydia. He buys her too many presents (_I'm not going to leave you, you know_); she leaves too many marks on him whispering 'just to be sure' against his neck; they have wars over several trivia games but always make up thanks to google and lots and lots of kissing; she reluctantly agrees to dress up as princess Leia for Halloween _and_ lets him take a number of pictures; she refuses to wear the blue and orange bracelet he got her because she calls it a fashion tragedy but appreciates the sentimental value; they send a digital christmas card of them in front of a christmas tree to everyone they know, it's too disgusting for words, them all cuddled up in christmas sweaters and hats and goofy smiles but they get like two hundred likes so who cares really ("_love the way half the population of beacon hills is congratulating you on scoring someone so out of your league!_" You see. You see why he carries such a hatred for Isaac); everytime he says something smart, she gets a total intelligence boner and doesn't seem to care where they are so he's bought like twelve encyclopedias at Barnes and Nobles and memorized them; she calls him her boyfriend, like it's just a casual thing, all the time; she knows him and does that thing where she kisses his neck on that one spot that drives him crazy and only buys him candy for his birthday and sits with him and holds his hand at his mother's grave for hours on _her_ birthday without saying anything; he finds out his new weakness is her wearing his shirts because she looks so tiny and he feels so proud in some way—but one thing he's ultimately very proud of, maybe the most, is the fact they never and will never use the pronoun 'we'. That's just taking a step too far. That's voluntarily signing yourself up for a future post on awkwardfamilyphotos dot com.

So, just to make sure everyone knows she didn't take pity on him or anything, he wants to say he didn't start any of this, but he is _really_ glad it happened.

.

_you fell out of the sky and you made my day_

_as long as you can tell me that _

_you're going to stay, i'll keep smiling_

.

**(A/N okay song in this fic is by sheppard i'm so in love with their music please listen to them and buy their album and sent them fanmail so they can continue to funk up my life. this particular song is called smile and i don't own it. **

**so obviously im stydia af (AF! ! ! **_**AF**_**) but im not an experienced stydia fic writer or anything so dont hurt me if this sucks**

**i hope this isn't too OOC or anything but i'm always nervous writing for anything else beside glee to be honest and in the glee fandom everything is considered a joke like crack fics are the normal way to go so i hope my humour isn't making the story seem fake or unrealistic but pls tell me what i can do to fix it the next time if so**

**im working on a stydia life as we know it based AU and a stiles detective / lydia FBI agent AU i'm wondering if anyone would be interested in them?**

**ALSO I'M NOT GOOD AT WRITING SMUT OR ANYTHING SO I DIDNT TRY IT BUT I'M ALSO NOT GOOD AT WRITING FOREPLAY SO PLEASE IGNORE IT ALL DELETE IT KILL ME much love from me to you**

**FYI this could be considered be considered headcanon since 3.24 never happened ha Ha ha HA! ! ! how's france, allison? ? ? love u **

**pls review so i can send you fanmail and try to express my everlasting love for you by using outdated emoji's like :3 and xd **

**thaNKS A LOT GUYS)**


End file.
